Still Untitled
by Iori Branford
Summary: FINALLY got Chapter 3 out, as if any of you still care...I'm not sure it's quite finished, and my writer's block is kicking into high gear right now, so suggestions would be welcome
1. Unearthed

The sound of iron biting rubble was everywhere

The sound of iron biting rubble was everywhere.

If the diggers, clad in the red and green robes of the Cult of Kefka, were the least bit fatigued, they showed no sign. They had been pulling apart the remains of the great tower for the Gods knew how long, with only a few worthless trinkets and the sweat dripping from their faces to show for it. Still they went on as if whatever lay therein would be their ticket out of hell when they died.

From a hastily-built guard tower, a great purple octopus and a tall cloaked man looked on.

"Gods dammit, how many times must I remind them this is a frickin' treasure hunt and not a stupid archaeological dig?" fumed the purple octopus. 

"Speak not ill of the one they worship, Ultros," the tall man said smoothly, adjusting his cloak to counter the bitter cold morning air. "To them, this man's corpse is the mother of all treasures."

"You have a point, Goenitz, but we agreed with them that, between us, we'd get 30% of what they dig up! So what the hell are we each going to do with 15% of his dried-out carcass?"

Goenitz ignored him. "We only hired them five-odd days ago," he went on, "and we've yet to prove ourselves as competent leaders. Legendary is the might of witless zealots in large numbers who've been denied what they want." 

Ultros waved a dismissive tentacle. "Oh, don't think I haven't heard all their rotten BS about this place being ol' Keffy's burial ground and them wanting to resurrect their fallen master and blah blah yada yada, but from the look of what they're doing I don't think that's all they hope to get out of all this."

"If you recall, all magic died only two years ago, the day this tower collapsed," Goenitz speculated, rubbing at his goatee. "You don't suppose...?"

"That's bull! Once a thing dies it's gone for good!"

"Don't be too sure. The phoenix alone knows how to break that law, but one day, so will everything else."

Several yards away, there were screams, followed by an ear-piercing screech. Goenitz waved his hand, and a thin column of wind messily perforated the offending creature. The terrified screaming faded into relieved panting.

Goenitz jumped down from the platform and hurried over. "Everyone okay? What was it?"

"Huff...'nother Spiny Worm, master Goenitz," one cultist gasped out. "Popped outta the groun' jus' like that. Thanks...puff, wheeze."

"Don't mention it. Bury it quick and get back to work."

"Haah...Yessir." The cultist turned back to his work. Then he turned back again to Goenitz. "Oh, uh, sir?"

"What is it?"

"You and master Ultros might want to have a look at this."

It appeared to be three large moldy statues - a woman, a demon, and a shade - leaning on each other and propping each other up like cards in a house. Something lay within, but the statues hid it from sight.

A few cultists moved to push them aside, but Goenitz barked, "Don't touch them! Let me have a closer look."

He walked up to the demon statue and gazed intently at it. Astonishment spread across his face. "Doom," he thought aloud. 

He got questioning looks. One cultist brought him a handful of diskettes.

"No, not the game _Doom_." He looked annoyed. "That's this statue's name. Doom." 

Next he indicated the woman. "Goddess." Then he pointed to the shade. "And Poltergeist."

Ultros stared at him. "You know these? What purpose do they serve?"

Goenitz flipped through a blue book. "Legend has it that, in ancient times, all magic came from three magical statues not unlike these. The day magic died was the day Kefka fell."

At this, the cultists paid homage to their dead god with great ear-piercing howls of anguish.

"Anyway," -Goenitz pulled his fingers out of his ears- "my point is that these might not be safe to touch. Legend _also_ has it that the world was shifted from Balance to Ruin when the statues were barely moved an _inch_."

The cultists nodded nervously.

"That is why I've decided to seal this area off until further notice." He drew a circle round the statues in the dirt with his heel.

"What about that, that thing in between them?" asked several cultists simultaneously.

"We'll figure out a way to extricate it," Ultros assured them. "You may all take a 1-hour break, but from that hour forth the statues are strictly off limits. Understood?"

This isn't as easy as I imagined, thought Goenitz and Ultros in unison. Sooner or later someone's gonna break something, I just know it.

Not that the cultists of Kefka were a terribly undisciplined bunch. In fact, they were relatively benign if let alone (even if their raucous "prayer" sessions tended to induce headaches in those unfortunate enough to be nearby). 

Blatant defiance just wasn't in these guys' character, either. Now that their magic abilities were gone, any doofus could take command of these weak-willed fanatics, provided the said doofus was firm enough with them. No offense.

"None taken," Ultros and Goenitz replied as one.

No, it wasn't any of those things that worried the duo. It was one tiny minuscule gem of truth:

These. Guys. _Loved_. Playing. Soccer.

Okay, under normal circumstances, that wouldn't have been much cause for alarm. The trouble was, things tended to become "mysteriously" broken wherever the cultists played (including the bones of those among them foolish enough to be goalies), and of course these statues were the last thing either Ultros or Goenitz wanted broken. There must have been at least fifty games of soccer being played at once, and no small number of players had limped off coughing up blood and complaining of fractured femurs.

"What do they put in those balls, 50-lb weights?" Ultros wondered aloud.

"I think it's because they kick too hard," Goenitz mused. He looked at his watch and breathed a sigh of relief, seeing that the hour had passed. "Break time's over! Back to work, all of you!"

The cultists groaned, but they put their balls away and took up their picks and shovels once more.

"Guess we can rest easy now," said Ultros.

But it was not to be.

The first cultist raised his pick and brought it down.

It flew from his hands in the direction of the three leaning statues. 

It struck the object in the middle.

"Oh...sh*!t," moaned Goenitz.

There was a crumbling noise. Suddenly a brilliant column of white light shot skyward from the object.

Ultros and Goenitz covered their eyes and prepared for death.

Silence, followed by loud wails of sheer bliss. 

They opened their eyes. What they saw made their jaws hit the dirt.

All three statues were miraculously intact. But they now stood upright and there were little twinkles of light flowing between them.

The object in the middle of the triangle was now visible, as well. It was a shiny chunk of amber roughly the size of two men. The entire Cult had gathered round to sing their praises and genuflect before it. Ultros and Goenitz immediately saw why.

Trapped inside the amber like a mosquito was the skeleton of a three-winged man. Goenitz didn't even need to look it up to know who it was.

Far to the northeast, outside the ruins of Mobliz, Terra Branford was gulping down the last of her miso soup when she felt her skin prickle. 

She shivered. "What in the-"

A sudden wave of invisible force nearly knocked her over like a tsunami. She dropped her soup bowl, staggered backward and fell to her knees, gasping for breath. The world seemed to be spinning in circles.

When she had composed herself, she went back inside. Katarin worriedly shifted her two-year-old child in her arms. "What was that, th-that shockwave?" she breathed. "Like gravity was turned on its side for a minute there!"

"You felt it too, then." Terra glanced nervously in the direction from which the force had come. "Maybe it means something. Do you feel any different than before?"

"No, not at all."

Terra definitely felt different, though. It was the feeling of having found something dear that had long been lost, of having eaten after a long famine. 

"Excuse me a minute." She went back outside to collect her thoughts. 

It had been a wall of some kind of force, she knew. It wasn't exactly physical force, like the feeling of being shoved or the tremor from a bomb exploding. It was something...something else, like magnetism or lightning - something intangible.

Or something..._magical_?

Realization dawned.

She resolutely strode over to an old dead leafless bush, as if guided by that very same force.

"Doushta!" She swung her hand at the bush.

Her hand launched a wave of purple flame. The bush caught fire and blazed until it was a pile of ash.

Stupefied, Terra gazed at her hand as if it was not her own.

"Wha, wha - does this mean...Dad was wrong?"


	2. Assassins

Chapter 2

Day was breaking over Castle Figaro.

Nobody was up just yet, but in a few hours that would change. True, Figaro was not your typical castle, but it still required as much attention and maintenance as any other. But until then, now was the Figaroans' chance to get some well-earned rest.

So when an invisible energy wave noiselessly washed over the Figaroans without even leaving a dent in the castle's steel walls, all everyone did was to sink deeper under their covers and continue to sleep like logs.

Edgar proudly gazed at his reflection in the mirror as he carefully buttoned on his shirt.

The question had been gnawing at him for months. Why was _he_, His Majesty King Edgar Roni Figaro (his nose tweaked with the memory of once being called "Edgar Rice-a-Roni"), getting no more attention from the ladies than he had when he'd assumed the throne? Especially aggravating because, two short years ago, he'd helped snuff Lord Kefka out before that makeup-wearing lunatic's mad dreams could be realized. And yet the babes still snubbed him.

This morning, however, he didn't quite feel the same. Not like he had turned into someone else, but…he wasn't sure _what_ it was. He only knew that he felt somehow better than he had last night, or through his whole life for that matter. Maybe he had magically become more attractive to the girls. _No_, he scoffed mentally, _magic's dead, kaput, gone to the big spell scroll in the sky._

Then again, you never know…

As he walked out of his room and combed his hair, he glimpsed a newly hired serving maid strolling by. Her lustrous blue hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she wore a plain white T-shirt and a pair of bell-bottomed hakama trousers. 

He decided it was time to acquaint her with the studliest man on the Planet. Or so he called himself.

He _very casually_ sauntered over and greeted her, "Hello, Sexy."

She looked up from the book she was reading. "It's Kasumi, Highness."

So far so good, Edgar thought. "Kasumi…what a lovely name." He gently took her hand. "I don't think I've had the pleasure of—MMH!"

She calmly dusted off her hands as she walked away.

"Wei!" Edgar called after her. "Whah ye goih? Ah, dah ih!" He spit the book out of his mouth and ran after her. 

"Hey, what's the matter? Was it something I said? Huh?"

"Hm, I recognize that guy as Edgar, King of Figaro," mused Goenitz as he peered at the images floating in midair above the amber. The one he was looking at depicted a well-dressed, regal-looking young man chasing someone, presumably a girl. "I don't know anyone else, though."

"Oh, I do. I most _certainly_ do," Ultros snarled.

"Who are they?"

"Don't you get it? They're the twelve heroes who knocked him off his throne way back when!" The purple blob's expression darkened. "They kicked _my_ ass, like, multiple times, too! An opportunity to kick their asses back would be _very _appreciated!"

Goenitz suddenly felt a profound hatred for these people take hold of his own heart. "You know, for some reason I myself feel like _I_ could sleep better if their blood was spilled."

"Us too!" chorused the Cultists of Kefka. "Their odious assassination of the Great God must not go unforgiven! _Let us go, master Ultros and master Goenitz, and bring them all to swift and terrible justice!!!_" The cry escalated to a roar.

Goenitz looked over all that they had found – a handful of cheap jewelry, three great stone statues, and a giant lump of solidified goo containing the remains of a demigod – but Ultros congratulated them, "You've all done a magnificent job. Three days' vacation for all of you, during which you may do with these mongrels as you will!"

The Cultists gave a mighty cheer and scattered to pack their things. Ultros and Goenitz walked off to do the same.

In their heads, they thought they heard a voice giggling, "Uweeheeheehee…" 

Yet they shrugged it off.

A very downcast Edgar ambled into the kitchen.

"Grrgh! What the hell is it? Is it my hair? Is it my clothes? Am I too forward? Am I too pushy??? WHAT?!?"

He slouched over to the refrigerator and opened it, hoping nobody had eaten all of last night's leftovers.

They were gone. Heck, _all_ the food was gone – except for yesterday's _yakisoba_, which was currently being eaten by a very familiar-looking albino woman with little icicles hanging from her in various places. 

"Shorry, 'd'you wan' shome?" she said between mouthfuls.

"Terra?"

She swallowed. "It's frickin' freezing in here, so spare me the joyful reunion. Is Sabin with you?" 

"He said he was going to do some training in the mountains." 

She thought for a moment and muttered, "I guess we can meet up with him later." Her chopsticks grabbed Edgar's shirt and pulled him closer. "Meet me in your room in a few minutes. It is imperative that I speak with you _alone._"

Edgar's heart could have leaped over the Kefka Fanatics' Tower. "_YYYYYYYYou will?????_"

She gave him a look. "Don't get any ideas," she warned him as she reached out and shut the refrigerator door.

"WAIT! I haven't had breakfast yet!" Edgar flung it back open. "Did you leave _me_ anyth—"

This he said to a plate of _chao mein_. Terra was gone, and all the food was back. All except for the _yakisoba_, of course. 

He wolfed down a few _gyoza_ dumplings and left through the same doorway. Then, as an afterthought, he returned, rummaged through a drawer, pulled out a condom and put it in his pocket. Then he excitedly hurried to his room as Terra had ordered.

Sure enough, there she was, waiting for him. She was black with soot all over.

Edgar felt saliva accumulating in his mouth (the soot made her look like some panther-woman) but he restrained himself. "Ooooo—kay, what is it you wanted to tell me?" _Please, please, PLEASE say you love me…_

She walked over to the door and bolted it. "Can you keep a secret?"

__

Ooooohoohoooooo… YES YES YES YES YES YES! Edgar felt his spirits rise, along with something else. "Sure."

She dusted the soot off. "For your sake I hope so. I'm _really_ scared of what might happen if word of this gets out."

A group of men approached the entrance to Figaro.

"Halt!" the guardsmen shouted at them.

They didn't listen. They just slugged him in the stomach. The breath escaped him with a whoosh.

They walked on in.

"Uh, certainly. Anything for my lovely neon-haired Esper goddess."

She scowled. "That's not going to get you laid, so quit it."

Edgar felt his heart go _kerplop_, but his hopes held_. _"I was just complimenting you, dear."

They strode through the foyer and into the courtyard.

"Who are _you? _How'd you get in???" demanded a guard.

A fist took him in the temple. He toppled to the floor.

They walked past him and into the royal bedchambers.

"Well, what's your big secret?"

"Er…" She trailed off. She saw the door bolt moving by itself.

Before she could do anything, the door flew open, revealing four red-and-green-robed men. One was armed with twin daggers, the second carried a saw, the third was busy loading a hand crossbow, and the last wore fist irons.

"Cultists of Kefka," Terra drawled.

The first bellowed, "Guess what, infidels! The holy remains of the Great and Almighty God Kefka, whose life _you_ so wickedly spilled out, have been found!"

"Is that what you were trying to tell me?" Edgar asked her.

"No. I thought we liquidated every last bit of him."

"Now his eternal spirit demands your unworthy carcasses," the second Cultist continued, "that he may rise again!!!"

"Oh really." Terra stepped forward. "Why don't you go visit him in Hell—" she drew a newly-sharpened katana "—and tell him we said that he can take his stupid demands and shove them up his arse."

Edgar followed suit, drawing the Atma Weapon. "Don't worry about transportation; _we'll send you mother-f&*%kers down there right now!!!_"

"I wouldn't," the third Cultist mocked, aiming his crossbow at Edgar's unmentionable. 

"Shut up!" He leaped at the Cultist and swung, splitting his head like a melon. The stricken fellow convulsed and fell to the floor in a heap.

The first Cultist's eyes widened in fury. "_For Kefka!_" he bellowed as he raised his dagger.

Thus the fight began.

Terra had spent the past two years tirelessly honing her skill with a blade, and it was paying off. The two Cultists she faced, however, were no slouches either. 

The second Cultist's foot-and-a-half-long saw repeatedly batted aside Terra's four-foot _murasame_, until Terra knife-kicked him in the groin and Shadow Thrusted the fellow's head. He stiffened and fell against the bedpost.

The fourth one's fist irons combined with his above-average dexterity allowed him to catch the blade between his fingers. Terra, thinking quickly, raised her sword for a Thunder Axe. The Cultist raised his fist to block, but as her blade came down she canceled into a Scarlet Leaf. He shrieked at where his arm used to be until Terra unkindly introduced his head to the fireplace mantle. _Then_ he fell silent.

On the other side of the room, Edgar did not fare so well. He remembered facing the Cult of Kefka in that great tower so long ago, how all the Cultists had fought with magic. This one's hand-to-hand fighting skills, however, were way beyond what he had expected.

He swung the Atma Weapon at the first Cultist's neck. The zealot caught the blade between his daggers and kicked Edgar in the stomach. Edgar fell to his knees, and another kick almost fractured his chin.

The Cultist triumphantly raised both daggers and stabbed down, yelling a loud war cry. Edgar rolled out of the way, but not fast enough. He yelped as one dagger bit into his arm. He dropped the Atma Weapon.

He felt a hand roughly seize his collar and pull him to his knees. "Now shall you regret your blasphemy!" 

Cold steel touched his neck, ready to rupture the artery in his throat.

"_Noooo…!_"

A strange sensation overcame him.

He broke free of the Cultist's hold. He punched him in the chest.

A blue sphere of electricity formed. Then it disappeared, leaving empty space where the Cultist's heart and lungs had been. The body went _splat_ as it hit the floor.

He fell to his knees, panting. 

Terra walked over, wiped her sword off, and helped him up. 

"Haah, haah…you, you done already?" he asked. 

"Yeah, those guys were pushovers. You OK?" She saw his bleeding arm. "No, I guess you aren't."

Edgar looked positively spooked. "What, what was that, that…thing I just did?"

"_Ah_." She put her hand over his wound. "See, _that's _what I came to talk to you about. Did you feel any different when you woke up this morning?" 

"Uh, yeah." He still did. "I felt…_better_. Somehow. I can't really explain it."

"Well, you know what I think that means? Observe." She closed her eyes.

A surge of energy washed over him. 

The pain stopped. She released his arm.

Where Edgar had been cut, there was only a faint scar.

"Cure-Ra," she said simply. "Remember?"

Edgar was too bewildered to answer. His mind raced with questions. _Magic is _not_ dead?_

"By the way, as you were perforating this poor oaf—" she kicked the inert body of Cultist #1 "—you shouted something."

"I did?" Strange. He hadn't heard a word escape his lips the whole time. 

"Yep. Sounded like '_Raijin ken_' – Lightning Fist." 

"Did this happen to you too?"

She nodded. "Mine was a purple fire wave, and _I _said '_Doshita_.'" She looked over the bodies. "I don't think the Cult sent these four to kill us one by one. We should warn the others about this."

"Hey," inquired Edgar as they headed northwest from Figaro a few hours later. "How _did_ you get into my refrigerator this morning?"

"I Warped my way in. As you saw, though, my memory of your place has gotten a little rusty."

"You're lucky we had it switch places with the stove last night."

"Also when I tried to Warp to your room, I ended up in your chimney. Thanks for not lighting your fireplace."

Edgar stifled his giggles at the image of Terra with her shapely ass on fire, shooting out of his chimney like a cannonball.

She grabbed his arm and ran. "Enough. Locke and Celes await."


	3. Theft

Chapter 3

A harsh wind roared through the streets of Kohlingen that evening.

Its citizens, worried about getting literally carried away, had retreated into the warmth and comfort of their homes. Anyone who happened to arrive in this town would have heard only the wind, screaming around corners and through the alleyways.

They would also have seen a handful of cloaked, hooded figures marching toward Rachel Avenue. Then the wind would have roughly ushered the unfortunate visitor out of town.

* * *

The veins in Celes's forehead throbbed like mad.

"I don't mind a little wind," she griped, "_but that gods-forsaken rattling is just killing me!_"

"Amen to that." Locke winced as the windows of their house quivered like Jell-O. The noise was so loud as to almost damage the human brain.

"How is it that Athena and Rachel—" the ex-"treasure hunter" indicated the crib containing their twin baby daughters "—just _have_ to scream and yell for us in the middle of the night, when it's so quiet you can hear your ears ring, but they sleep like kittens in the middle of this gods-damn hurricane?"

"Children are odd," his wife laughed. "Well, I guess we have this time to ourselves then."

"Yeah...maybe we can, heh, _do_ something." Locke raised a very suggestive eyebrow.

"Oh, you—" Celes dove into him in a storm of giggles. "Yeah, downstairs."

* * *

They headed down into the room where Locke's ex once lay and where the couple now slept. 

Both hit the roof at what they saw. Their noses were none too pleased either.

To say that it was a wreck would have won an Academy for Biggest Understatement. Scattered bits of wood marked where a chair had once sat. Shards of clay littered the floor. The wastebaskets had been untidily emptied all over the room. Raw broken eggs decorated _everything._

Rachel's bed was the worst. Not only had it too been trashed, stabbed, egged, and repeatedly axed, but the vandals had also adorned it with several unusually fragrant substances normally reserved for toilets.

Celes buried herself in her husband's arms. "What, who...who could've done..._done_ this?" she gasped out between sobs.

Locke's face twisted with a terrible realization. He dashed over to the filth-laden bed. "Ye gods, did they take the—"

The lights abruptly dimmed.

"Yes, and it's ours now," laughed a deep voice behind them. They did an about-face. 

Standing at the top of the stairs was a tall blond man wearing a black cape over a snappy blue-green suit. "Did I forget to introduce myself? I'm sorry." He rubbed his neatly trimmed beard. "I'\m Goenitz. I'd love to stay and chat, Mr. and Mrs. Cole, but I'm afraid I've got someone to deliver _this_ to." He held up a small keepsake box.

"_NO!_" Locke reddened with fury. "_Give that back!!!_"

He lunged, aiming his Orichalcon at Goenitz's throat. A long purple tentacle flew from the darkness and slapped the ex-thief aside. 

"_Ultros!_" Celes snarled, grabbing a broom-sized Estoc off the wall.

"Uweh heh heh! Don't tease the octopus, kids!" Sure enough, out crawled the great purple eight-legged blob that, after three arse-kickings, Death _still_ refused.

With a mighty roar, Celes leaped forward and _thrust_. Ultros skittered aside, but the tip of the Estoc caught one tentacle, severing it. 

"_Yeouch! _Seafood soup!" 

The rest of his tentacle seemed to turn to liquid for a moment. Then it extended and hardened into _two_ new tentacles.

Celes swore. "You've grown stronger!"

"Damn straight I have! I haven't exactly learned nothing all these years!" he cackled, and raised his tentacle again.

Goenitz stuffed the keepsake box in his coat pocket as he strode for the town gates.

At least he _was_, until he felt icy cold steel at his temple, a restraining arm around his neck, a pair of soft legs round his abdomen, and warm crystal where the sun did not shine. 

"Hi," said a soft voice, "Wanna dance?"

"If not, you'll give us that box," added another.

Goenitz smirked. "I'll decline that offer – I can't dance. Besides, who'd want to with a violent wench like yourself?"

"Smart ass, aren't we?" asked the soft voice with grim amusement. "You know what we do with smart asses? Tell 'im."

"Make 'em piss and moan like an impotent jerk, then give it to 'em up the jography!" announced the woman's companion, or boyfriend, or whatever the hell the man was.

Or king of a certain desert-going castle, perhaps? Goenitz recognized the man's voice.

"Your Majesty, King Edgar of Figaro," he said with feigned astonishment. "Such an honor to meet someone of your bearing."

Edgar melted out of the shadows. "You're _so_ kind. Who might you be?"

"Goenitz."

"So, Gonads, what makes you think you have a right to steal other's items?"

"It's GOENITZ." He growled. Why must nobody get his name right? What a disgusting world they were living in. People were so simple minded these days. Goenitz sighed inwardly.

"Whatever, Gonetits, or Gopiss, or whatever the hell your name is. Just tell my lady friend and I what you're going to do with that little relic, which _by the way, happens to belong to our good pal Locke_."

"Heh. Wouldn't you like to know?" Goenitz replied, and melted into nothingness.

He rematerialized a couple yards away, and saw the woman for the first time.

She was truly a sight for men's sore eyes. Wavy, green hair tied up into a neat ponytail, emotionless emerald eyes, and clothed in a red tank-top, and a pair of white short-shorts. 

"Well, well. You've certainly picked a good one Edgar," Goenitz complimented. 

"You're certainly not going to get her," Edgar said venomously.

"I'd hook up with you, but my tight-ass schedule forbids it. Besides, you must be pretty dumb to fall for his pathetic pick-up lines," Goenitz quipped. 

"_I am NOT his bitch_," Terra drawled.

The wind was squeezed from him as she sent her elbow into his stomach. Her other hand descended upon him and pinned him to the unforgiving cobblestones underneath. 

She let loose her violet flame, submerging him in blistering hot pain.

Now, it was Edgar's turn. He hefted up his drill, which _magically_ appeared, and ran through Goenitz. He missed. He tried it again. Miss. Then again. There was a satisfying sound of flesh and steel.

"Got you there, didn't I Gonads…Gonads?"

What he had skewered was not Goenitz, but a rutabaga.

"What the—?" Edgar felt a large hand tightly clasp his neck. The hand slowly lifted him off the ground. A small gasp next to him indicated that Terra was in the same situation.

Goenitz laughed maliciously. "You managed to hurt me…a little. None of my opponents have even scratched me." He roughly twisted their heads round to give them a better view of the cut on his chest. "But you two actually made me bleed!" 

His lips twisted into a snarl. "So for that, your lives shall be mine." 

"Oh, _you're_ a sportsman," choked out Terra. She kicked her legs and thrashed wildly, but no avail. His vise-like grip tightened.

"Yes, I am, aren't I?" he replied. He exhaled. 

And the screams of a man and a woman rang out through the uncaring night air.


End file.
